“How long are you in town?” Cassie asked, her bare foot brushing gently against the side of one of Erin’s flats.
Erin pressed her lips together. “I fly out tomorrow evening.”
“Plenty of time to entertain yourself, then,” Cassie said, and her toes curled around Erin’s ankle.
Erin’s skin must have been bright red. It felt like that anyway—flushed and burning. Was the restaurant always this humid? She preferred the climate of New Hampshire, where she was born and raised, over that of Virginia for a lot of reasons. Added to the list: if they’d been in New Hampshire in October, Cassie wouldn’t have been wearing sandals. Erin wouldn’t have had to feel the heat of Cassie’s skin against hers under the table.
Parker told Erin about her classes, while Cassie perused the menu and played footsie. It was insane, doing this in front of Parker. Not that Erin was doing anything except holding very still. Though perhaps not pulling back counted as doing something. She wanted to pull away—not because it didn’t feel good, but because it did. Cassie’s smug smile never left her face, just as bold as last night, and Erin hated that it was still working for her. She should’ve been mortified. She should’ve felt awkward and uncomfortable and embarrassed. She’d done a bad thing.
Because that was what this was: bad. How could sleeping with your daughter’s friend be anything else?
Parker talked about her studio art class, clearly oblivious to anything going on under the table. Cassie slid her foot up and down Erin’s calf as the waitress took their drink orders, and Erin finally forced herself to shift her legs in the other direction, away from Cassie’s.
“What about you, Cassie?” Erin asked once the server left. “What are you studying?”
It was easier to look at her now that they weren’t touching. Even if the smirk still hadn’t left Cassie’s face.
“I’m a physics major,” she said. “Going into engineering.”
“She’s going to be an astronaut!” Parker said.
Erin raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I am not,” Cassie sighed. “I’m going to Caltech next year to study aerospace engineering, yeah, but I don’t even know if I want to do aeronautics or astronautics yet.” She must’ve noticed Erin’s complete lack of comprehension because she continued. “Stuff inside the Earth’s atmosphere, like planes and sh—stuff, or outside, like, yes, spaceships.”
It was laughable that Cassie stopped herself from swearing. As though Erin hadn’t already made her curse.
“See?” Parker said. “Astronaut.”
Cassie rolled her eyes and gave Erin a grin. Erin couldn’t help but smile back.
Parker excused herself to use the restroom after the server took their orders. Once Erin was sure her daughter was out of earshot, she turned to glare at Cassie, who still looked like a cat who’d eaten the canary.
“Cassie,” Erin said, voice low and warning, and Cassie’s grin went a little feral instead of disappearing like Erin had hoped. “I need you to stop.”
“I did!” Cassie protested. “You moved away, and I stopped.”
“You need to stop looking at me like that.”
Cassie furrowed her brow, like maybe she hadn’t meant to be looking at her any sort of way. Erin couldn’t deny that it was nice—she was less than two years out from forty; it wasn’t like it was a hardship to have a twentysomething as obviously attracted to her as Cassie was. If only it were that simple.
“That is my daughter.” Erin’s shoulders slumped. “She already spends half her time hating me for divorcing her father. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
She scrubbed a hand through her hair. Cassie bumped a leg against hers under the table, and Erin looked at her, defeated.
“No, I just meant—” Cassie cut herself off. She folded her hands in her lap. Erin would’ve bet her ankles were crossed under the table. “Sorry. I’ll be good.”
Erin took a sip of her coffee instead of indulging in a smile. It didn’t matter if Cassie was cute.
Parker returned then. Cassie slid farther into the booth instead of bothering to get up and let Parker in.
“Whacha talking about?” Parker asked.
Cassie didn’t miss a beat. “Just trying to get your mom to tell me embarrassing stories about you as a kid.”
“There are none,” Parker said, her nose in the air. “I was a perfect child.”